


The Herald of Lost Little Girls

by Exposedma



Series: The Herald of... [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:26:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3264905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exposedma/pseuds/Exposedma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabel has seen the face of her enemy, and he and his dragon have been stopped for now.  She should be dead, she was supposed to sacrifice herself to save the rest of the Inquisition, but she's alive and dread fills her.  She needs to find them, but her wounds and a concussion slow and confuse her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Herald of Lost Little Girls

She married him the day after she turned eighteen. Isabel couldn’t remember a day where she had been happier. He had been fostered in her father’s house, minor Ferelden nobility but more than adequate for the youngest Trevelyan daughter. Lord Elric Trevelyan doted on his daughter, and the fact that the two youths loved each other made the match all the better. She had worn a white dress and her long chestnut curls had been styled and pinned with flowers. The apple trees had been in bloom and the delicate pink petals carried on the wind into the small Chantry where they had spoken their vows. A petal landed on her cheek and Isabel went to remove it, only to watch the petal melt away on her finger, cold and wet. 

Pain flared in her side, and the bright spring morning melted into a cave, dark, cold, hard. The sickly sweet tang of copper filled her mouth, she rolled onto her side only to wretch. Blood dripped into her eyes, stinging her thanks to a generously bleeding wound on her head. She tried wiping it away but it smeared and made her eyes water, she managed to find a handful of snow and used it to wipe her face so she could look around and get her bearings. Breathing was difficult, and she held her side. Her left arm pulsed and set her nerves on fire, casting an eerie green glow over her surroundings. She was still confused, not able to recall where she was, why she was hurt, or what was going on. 

“Help.” She choked out in a small voice. “Maker, help me.” 

The cold answered her. She looked at the hand, her hand, glowing. She felt at her head, her hair was short, and matted with dirt and blood. She touched the ring at her neck, then the scar at her side, gave herself time to remember, for things to make sense. Corypheus, and a signal flare. He had flung her like a rag doll into the trebuchet, she had slammed her sword onto the lever, the mountain came down on them. A cold dread gripped her, she was alive. She wasn’t supposed to be alive, if she lived…Isabel wretched again more blood then vomit, sickness and the tang of metal coating her mouth and tongue. She dragged herself up to her feet. Her chest plate was dented inward, she unclasped the buckles holding it in place and with a wince pulled it off of her, the pain was still there but breathing was easier. The first step was the most difficult, her legs buckling under her weight, but fear propelled her forward, and she forced herself to move, to find them, dead or alive.  
“Maker, not again, let them live…let them live…” she whispered harshly to the cavern.

There was no shelter from the snow, it seeped into her heavy boots, her toes burned from the cold each snowflake finding her skin was like a tiny knife, chilling her, her leather pants soaked quickly in the waist high drifts. Every step was agony and she hugged herself in a desperate bid to keep herself warm. Tears streaked the grime on her face leaving frosted lines in their wake, born of pain, fear or exhaustion she couldn’t tell, she knew only that they wouldn’t stop. Her jaw had stopped chattering some time ago, a bad sign. She was tired, and the snow seemed more inviting with every step. There was still hope she reasoned with herself, even if the initial blow hadn’t killed her, the cold might, and if she died, then maybe, the rest of the inquisition had lived, if she stopped and lied down, and finally accepted her fate. She took another step, she had to be sure, she needed her proof. If there was a chance, no matter how small that Cullen had seen them through the mountain pass and the blizzard she was battling she needed to see it. If they had all died, if Corepheus and his dragon had descended upon the fleeing survivors, she needed to see the bodies, she would lie down beside them, and it was enough to keep her moving. She coughed out a bitter and hateful laugh, Herald of Andraste, more like harbinger of death, she had been touched by fate, but it wasn’t the kind that brought hope. She had been chasing death for the last ten year but she was ever the coward when faced with it, survival instincts stronger then self-loathing and loneliness. She tripped and stumbled, a short rest was all she needed, somewhere she heard wolves howling. 

She didn’t know when she had sunk to her knees, or when she had closed her eyes but the glorious spring morning of her wedding was before her again. Mathias, in his finery, looking as much a prince as she had ever imagined, took her in his arms, brushing a tendril of hair from her face. He winked at her before scooping her into his arms, he was so young, so perfect, he was hers, and she was his. She reached up and touched his face, and he bent to kiss her. She sighed out his name as he raced across the courtyard making her breathless. She relaxed into his arms, safe and warm, she forgot why she had been feeling so anxious when everything was right, just the way it should be. 

**

She was alive, he didn’t know how, but Cullen didn’t question it, he only thanked the Maker for sparing her. She was freezing and soaked to the bone, he saw the blood on her face, and the angry gash on her head. He felt how shallow her breathing was and he sent up a prayer that she hadn’t survived only for her to die in his arms. 

“She’s alive.” He answered the question on his compatriot’s faces, “but Maker knows for how long, get the healers.” It was then he felt freezing fingers on his cheek, the smallest of bushes before her hand fell away. “Lady Isabel?” He looked to the woman in his arms, she was looking through him, her eyes hazy and unfocused, her blue lips turned up into a serene smile. 

“Mathias.” She whispered so quietly he could barely hear her over the howling wind. Panic flared in his gut. Cullen didn’t need to know her husband’s name to know who Isabel was seeing. He had seen enough of his friends die to recognize the acceptance he saw in her face. 

“ Isabel, come back.” He held her more tightly. 

“Mathias, I’m cold.” She mumbled and Cullen broke into a run towards their makeshift camp. 

Leliana had gone ahead; Mother Giselle and Solas were waiting for him when he arrived. They wasted no time removing the cold and wet armor and clothes, piling woolen blankets and furs over her. Cullen stepped back watching her face, watching the rise and fall of her chest. She was in and out of consciousness mumbling incoherently. It wasn’t until Solas stepped in front of him that he looked away. 

“The Herald is on a swords edge, she is bleeding internally, she has a severe head wound, broken ribs and is hypothermic. The veil surrounding her is thin, commander, Mother Giselle and I can treat her wounds, but she must remain awake. The fade is calling to her, our call to her must be louder if she is to survive.” Solas gave him a grim look. 

Cullen looked from Solas to Isabel his brow furrowing, “can I help? What would you have me do?” 

“Speak with her, and keep her awake, pray if you think it might help.” Solas returned to his work, the air around him snapping with energy directed towards his patient. 

Cullen nodded to no one in particular, kneeling beside the cot, her blue lips were moving soundlessly, and her eyes fluttered. Her fingers twitched. Cullen pulled his gloves off, and took her hand in his, rubbing her freezing digit between his two larger and warmer hands. One hand went to her face, brushing away some of the dirt and turning it towards him. 

“Isabel, look at me.” He squeezed her hand as he spoke. Her eyes opened completely, and she stared for a moment, unfocused, and he knew she still wasn’t seeing him. He would face being mistaken for her dead husband later, he wouldn’t play the part for her, but he didn’t have the heart to correct her either.

“You died.” She answered in a strained voice, she winced in pain her features confused. “Didn’t you?” 

“No Isabel, I’m not dead, and neither are you. Thanks to you, almost everyone was saved.” Cullen smiled at her warmly, letting his thumb stroke her cheek. 

Her brow furrowed and she groaned low, squeezing her eyes shut tightly before opening them again, her hand shook in his grasp and Cullen held it close to his chest, gently pulling her back from the memories she was living in. “You faced the elder one and his Arch Demon, you shot the trebuchet and brought the mountain down on Haven. They heard you, and you kept everyone else safe.” 

“Let that thing hear you.”

“Cullen?” Isabel felt some of the confusion pull away from her, the pain in her body, the sights, scents and sounds around her sharpened, and she whimpered quietly. The smiling face of her dead husband was slowly replaced by Cullens, full of open concern. “Safe? Everyone?” She tried to sit up but pressure on her shoulder kept her down, she fought it, not seeing what held her down. “What’s…” 

“It’s all right, it’s just Solas tending to your wounds, relax.” She settled at his words. 

“Herald, welcome back.” Solas spoke from her other side and she glanced at the elf who nodded at her with glowing finger tips lightly pressing onto her head.  
Her grip on his hand loosened and Cullen saw her eyes close. “Commander, she can’t sleep, not yet.” Solas warned. 

Cullen brushed his thumb across her cheek again tilting her head, turning it towards him. “You called me Mathias when I found you. Was he your husband?” Cullen blurted the first thing that came to his mind, keep her talking. He had been curious about her husband from the moment he had learned of him, that he had died in Ostigar implied he had been Ferelden. Her eyes opened and she winced, and Cullen wished he could have taken it back, asked anything else, she licked her lips before biting the bottom one. 

“I called you Mathias? Maker, Cullen, I’m sorry.” She lifted her other hand to her face, the hand with the anchor, the fingers twitched and she stared at the pulsing light beneath the skin before pressing the heel into her face. 

“Shh, it’s alright, no need to apologize.” He gently pulled her hand away from her face, so that he might see her. She gave him a small smile.

“Lord Mathias Vaughn of Aldhill in the Southron Hills.” She cleared her throat.

“Near South Reach, I know the place, how did a Marcher end up married to a Vaughn?” Cullen asked, and Isabel must have heard the hesitation in his voice because she looked at him with an eyebrow raised in question. 

“Our fathers were friends, Mathias was sent to Ostwick to be fostered when he was thirteen…we…he…we became friends.” She laughed, “ As much as any thirteen year old boy can be friends with a ten year old girl. He was very close to my older brother Gideon. Marcus was the oldest and he was always too busy with his studies to be bothered with all us young ones.” She took a long breath. Speaking alone was tiring. 

“You were childhood sweethearts then?” Cullen guessed, remembering the baker’s daughter from Honnleath who had kissed him goodbye the day before he left for Templar training. He swallowed his unease, it was rediculous to feel jealousy towards a man ten years dead.

“Something like that, although he and Gideon were relentless with their teasing. They used to make me cry, sending me running to my father because they wouldn’t let me play knights with them.” She smiled fondly at the memory and Cullen chuckled, trying to imagine her as a girl. “Then one day the hair pulling and torment turned into holding my hand, and kissing in the garden when we thought no one was looking.” She got a faraway look in her eyes, and sucked in her breath when she felt the bite of a needle at her head where the gash was being stitched up. 

“I imagine the match was brokered shortly after we became involved. We were married the day after my eighteenth nameday.” She pressed her head into his hand when the stitches were done, Cullen’s warm touch was a comfort, grounding her, it was cathartic recalling, putting the events into words spoken out loud made them feel real and easier to accept. “We were married for fourteen months before King Cailan called his banners to Ostigar to battle the blight, and we all know how that ended.” She blinked back tears brought on by memory and exhaustion, Cullen caught the few that fell, wiping them away.

“I’m sorry.” Cullen felt his heart ache, the closest he ever came to love had been Amell in the Ferelden circle. He remembered mourning her death, wishing their last meeting had gone differently, wishing so much had been different.

“It was a long time ago.” Her eyelids felt heavy, “Cullen, I’m tired.” Cullen looked to Solas to see if she could be permitted to sleep, the elf nodded.

“Close your eyes.” I’ll be here. 

Isabel closed her eyes and Cullen placed the hand he had been holding under the blanket, but before he could withdraw she squeezed his hand and looked up at him sleepily. “Cullen, I’m glad you were the one to find me, and not Mathias.” She held his fingers, warm and steady, loath to let go until finally sleep caught up with her and her grip faltered, releasing him. 

“As am i.”


End file.
